Swamp
by Swiper. No swiping
Summary: Hoooooooo doggy.


You wanna live a life free of sin?

Shore.

You wanna do the Christian thing, huh?

Shore enough.

Well then stop eating.

Ahaha, haha, he thinks it's real funny. Throws his head back and laughs. Ahahaha. Real funny.

It's the real pretty time of early twilight when the sun starts setting and lights the haze in the sky on fire. Lightning bugs are coming out from the ground and hanging round underneath the trees. Little green ripples on an invisible ocean.

Pity that they're still alive, but it's kinda nice, too. A reminder of what the world was like before.

Sleet throws a brick through a gas station window.

But I hain't put my boots back on yet!

Well put 'em on, son. Sleet starts kicking through the large shards of glass still stuck in the frame. Ain't got much time t' dick around before the sun sets. Gotta get a fire started.

Dingo flexes his foot, spreading his toes apart. Stinks to high heaven. Whines to himself. Shore wish you could've given me some warning. Jams his foot back into the little swamp in his boot.

Damn it's hot out. I might mold over any minute now.

Dingo, shut up and come on.

Awful dark inside the abandoned store front but there's still some wooden shelves left. No more food, though. Hain't been any kind of food around here in a long time.

Wanna help me break one of these down? Sleet sez.

Shore. Why not.

Wooden shelves don't last too long when they're put up against two young men with sturdy boots for stomping. Something real relieving about it, Dingo thinks, as he kicks shelves down to kindling.

You think god's telling us t' lay down and die?

Question rings and echoes like a shot bullet in the empty gas station. Dingo stops busting the cabinet down but Sleet keeps at it.

I mean, that's what you was implying.

I weren't implying nothing.

That's what you was.

Nuh-uh. I don't think god's telling us nothing. He ain't talked t' no one since the days of the Bible.

Well ain't that a waste of a god.

Sleet don't you talk like that.

Sleet kicks down a leg like he's tripping up a wooden horse. Comes right off with a splintery wooden whine. He picks it up, wields it like a sword, then puts it in his two hands like a Louisville Slugger.

This is nice, he sez. Think I'll keep it.

And Dingo, Dingo's mind is on a troubled track. Eyes like a dim fire. Sleet turns to him and can see his dim fire eyes in the dark, knows what that means.

If you wanna stop eating, then you stop eating. More for me. That's what Sleet sez. But laying down and dying, don't you think that's even more disrespectful t' god? If we die, who's gonna be round t' praise him?

Yeh, yeh.

You din't have a problem with eating last night.

I don't think about it too much when I'm doing it.

Naw, you don't. You know why?

Why?

Cuz you was hungry.

Sleet swings his new weapon around at the apparitions of twilight. Through the musty air of the abandoned gas station.

When all men are hungry, Sleet sez, they don't think too much about nothing except for stuffing food in their gullet. Don't matter where the food comes from. Don't even matter what the food is. They's hungry, that's all. A man is also his stomach.

Yeh, yeh. Dingo dismisses him, gathers up the remains of the cabinet they just kicked to shit.

You cain't put the old ways t' living the way it is now. The rules's changed, Dingo. Resources is limited. You know what a petri dish is?

A pee tree dish?

It's one of them dishes they got in the science labs and shit. With all thems little, uh, critters that you cain't see with the naked eye.

A dish that's got little critters in it? I din't even know there was critters that little.

Yez, Sleet sez. Little critters kinda like germs. They live in this little dish but they don't have enough room for all of them so sometimes they start eating each other, y'see?

Why don't the scientists just give them more room t' live in?

Cuz they cain't. They's only interested in so many of those little critters and ain't interested in keeping 'em all alive.

Scientists are barbarians.

Amen.

Outside now there ain't any more crickets. No noises at all. Just stagnant air, hushing the whole valley down like death. No more crickets. No more owls or hawks or nothing. Even the lightning bugs have started to eat each other. Pretty soon the sun is gonna go down too and then the summer haze'll start rolling in the valley.

* * *

><p>The fire serves a few differn't purposes. One, it's a way to keep warm. Two, it's a good way to get some smoked meat, which tends to keep the best especially in days like these.<p>

And there's a third purpose but that's a little more sinister.

You want some jerky? Sleet snorts down a wad of snot and continues to chew.

And Dingo, Dingo's trying to see something in the fire. Now fire's a very powerful thing. The stuff that angels are made from. Giant pillars of fire. Sometimes it's important to note where the fire is, and what it's doing, just so that way you can see if it's telling you something. But Dingo only sees the flames as of now. Underneath his breath he's praying, like he does at every fire.

Please God.

You hungry right now, Dingo, or didja decide t' quit eatin'.

Naw, no thanks, Dingo says.

Just give me some kinda sign, God, please. Lord Jesus I need your guidance.

Hums a little.

You are the shepherd, I belong to you, when I am on rough ground–

Aw c'mon, don't start with that shit agin.

There's a cracking coming from the woods around the parking lot.

Shh, shut up for a sec. Sleet's voice falls to a whisper. You hear that?

Wha?

Just listen.

Like the sound of someone snapping branches underneath their boot.

A cold sweat breaks out on Dingo's forehead somehow, in the midst of all this heat and wetness. Only made possible through pure fear. Pupils contract and his heart starts sprinting, shedding years off of his lifespan.

Hey, hello? Is someone there?

From the woods. A child's voice.

Dingo doesn't know what he was expecting. A cherub, maybe. Some sort of messenger from heaven. But he's granted nothing so symbolic, albeit still a little strange. A fox with two tails, mud smeared on his face and a gun in his hand.

Well ain't you something special, kid. Sleet grins, slaps his knee. You don't see too many two-tailed foxes roun' here.

Um, no?

What's your name, kid?

Miles, says the so-called messenger from heaven.

Dingo scans through the books in his brain. There weren't nothing in the Bible about angels called Miles, much less takin' the form of a two-tailed fox, but he figures it ain't a demon cuz no demon would take the form of a child. Just women with loose morals.

Siddown here, Miles, Sleet's still got that smile on his face. It's not a nice smile. Sharp as a guillotine.

Sleet, stop. This from Dingo. It barely comes out more than a whisper.

Um, what if I don't want to?

You ain't got nothing t' fear, kiddo. We're jus two friendly guys, and uh, what's a kid like you doin' with a gun like that?

Oh, uh, I was told to carry it.

You was told t' carry that?

Yeah.

But why?

Sleet, stop.

Uh, well, see, I'm kinda looking for someone.

Oh, you're lookin' for someone, are ya. Who ya lookin' for?

Well, Miles looks all serious. She's a girl. A pink hedgehog, close to my age. You wouldn't happen to have seen anyone like that around, would you?

Sleet's smile gets a little more vicious. Dingo starts praying under his breath again. The Lord is my shepherd I shall not want–

Truth be told, son, we hain't seen anyone around here for a while. We been lookin' for people ourselves, ain't that right Dingo?

He maketh me to lie in green pastures–

Your friend's sort of strange, isn't he.

Well, he's of the shy type. So, tell me, where'r you and your kinfolk at?

Oh we're just staying in the woods not more than a mile in. The little fox smiles.

Oh really? Maybe someday we can meet your kinfolk. That would be awful nice.

Please Sleet.

Shucks. I feel real bad havin' you come all this way and not havin' anything for you t' eat. You want some jerky?

Sure, Mr. Sleet. That would be nice.


End file.
